


i took the stars from my eyes

by aceofdiamonds



Series: is that such a stretch of the imagination? [15]
Category: Gossip Girl, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Practical," Blair corrects. "And I'm not having them travel by Apparition all the time. Is that even legal?" She recalls the first time she Apparated, and most times after that, actually -- that squeezing sensation and the gasping for breath that came with transporting thousands of miles across the world in seconds. A baby couldn't handle that. </p>
<p>"There's Floo?" Harry offers. </p>
<p>But that's almost as bad as Apparating, plus the danger of third degree burns. She cuts off his next thought. "And no brooms. I don't care how many safety charms you can get." </p>
<p>blair and harry: three months to go</p>
            </blockquote>





	i took the stars from my eyes

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i wonder if i'm making these all too happy but then i don't care. these two deserve more happiness than anyone could ever give them. title is from cosmic love by florence and the machine because i love her

 

Blair takes to pregnancy the way she takes to everything: with enthusiasm and thinking towards the future.  
  
These thoughts tend to come in the middle of something else, when she's at work or when she's talking to Serena or when she's lying next to Harry in bed. Usually when she should be thinking about something else.  
  
They're logical concerns, about who will be primary caregiver, and where the baby will sleep, and names, and Serena's role because Serena has to be involved in her child's life somehow. She's always thinking thinking thinking about her baby's future. She's been a perfectionist since she had her first glimpse of perfect at the age of two -- obviously this will extend to her growing family.  
  
"They'll need a dual passport," she realises late one afternoon just after Harry has come home from training and is spread out along the couch. Blair balances on his legs; her bump isn't that big yet, she can still maneuver herself into positions. "The baby," she adds, as though it needs clarifying.  
  
"I don't have a passport," is what Harry says to this, shrugging it off, something else her friends would never do due to the connotations with wealth. "The Dursleys never took me with them and I've never needed one with brooms and Apparition."  
  
"Surely there's border control in some areas." Blair latches on to this instead of Harry's childhood, a topic that always has her clenching her fists and she's not supposed to get her blood pressure up. "Anyway," she continues on her first thought, "the baby will have dual nationality - it's best to make it official as early as possible."  
  
"Dual nationality," Harry repeats. "Fancy."  
  
"Practical," Blair corrects. "And I'm not having them travel by Apparition all the time. Is that even legal?" She recalls the first time she Apparated, and most times after that, actually -- that squeezing sensation and the gasping for breath that came with transporting thousands of miles across the world in seconds. A baby couldn't handle that.  
  
"There's Floo?" Harry offers.  
  
But that's almost as bad as Apparating, plus the danger of third degree burns. She cuts off his next thought. "And no brooms. I don't care how many safety charms you can get."  
  
"Is this your way of getting me on a plane?" And he's joking but Blair can feel him tense up beneath her.  
  
"Harry.” She twists so she's facing him face-on. Automatic, his hand comes up to her stomach; the swell of her stomach is small still but every time she runs her hand over it she's reminded of the last time. Everything in her life is completely different from last time: no more Louis, no more Chuck, no more schemes and danger. She knows with as much certainty possible that she's not going to be in that situation again -- this time will be different.  
  
Harry's eyes are on her, glasses slipping to the side, his mouth soft. He places his hand on her stomach, his pinkie brushing hers, and he breathes in and out slowly until she matches him breath for breath. "I know, Blair," he says, shifting with the sombre mood of the room. When she had found out she was pregnant she had told him the story of her first pregnancy, the crash, and the awful months that followed, the different parts coming out between sobs. Harry had held her and made quiet noises of encouragement and when she had finished he had kissed her forehead and told her he was so sorry that happened to her.  
  
She had been worried after that that he would be overbearing and protective but so far he's been no more so than usual. When they travel he casts more spells and likes Blair to have the Invisibility Cloak when she's alone, all of this based on rumours from the Auror office of lingering Dark wizards wanting to exact revenge using Harry's unborn child, but it's not anything that puts Blair out of her way and honestly, strong as she may be she knows she couldn't hold her own against wizards out to harm her, and so she allows it.  
  
"We can practice flying," she murmurs, slumping so she's lying along Harry's side. "We'll take a trip, just you and I."  
  
"This straddling two continents set-up is starting to have its downfalls, isn't it?"  
  
Blair shrugs, lifts her head to kiss Harry's jaw. "We always find a way around these things."  


  
. 

 

  
Blair suggests a relatively short, local, flight, JFK to Chicago, two hours max, but Harry's always been an overachiever in things concerning bravery and daring - the Gryffindor in me, he always says when she mentions this, as if that means anything. Blair's taken nothing from Constance except who's a secret bitch and what looks she can pull off when forced into a uniform - and so he insists they go JFK to Heathrow, the Atlantic no barrier to the stubborn.  
  
They make the trip a fortnight after their conversation, conscious to stay within Blair's second-trimester.  
  
"I'm fine with economy," Harry says, and this is one of the ways they differ.  
  
"We have the money, Harry, and it's your first time, and I don't fly economy," she lists off on her fingers. She almost pulls the pregnancy comfort trump card when she thinks he still won't change his mind but he relents.  
  
"Okay, fine, for you," he says, pretends to huff about legroom and the absence of noisy people. Harry's quiet about his wealth, an amount that Blair knows was big to start with before he became a professional Quidditch player and one of the best in the league at that. He doesn't flash it on big things and material goods, the way Blair is known to do, but he'll buy Blair presents every so often and he'll make huge donations to war charities and the continuing rebuilding and revolutionising the security and government of the country. He likes to use his money to go _towards_ things and that doesn’t necessarily include first class on a flight he doesn’t necessarily need to take.  
  
Harry’s fine up until the point where they've taken off and are now in that sometimes shaky climb into the sky. He says he's still fine but his hands keep tapping on the arms of his chair and he keeps glancing out the window.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Blair asks, mostly to get him to focus on her and to calm down, but also because she loves this story, loves hearing it every time even though she was a half of it.  
  
"I bought you ice cream and told you I was a wizard," Harry says, eyes fixed on the window. She can understand, being what she is and how she is, the feelings my of helplessness that comes with losing control. Harry's travel is usually dependent on his magical ability; with this, it's all taken out of his hands.  
  
"And you dropped your ice cream." Blair nudges him.

“I’d managed to block that part out,” he mutters, finally turning to look at her. He looks a little less pale.

“We were both running away from something that day,” Blair murmurs, slipping her hand into his and resting her head on his shoulder. His other hand reaches for the bump, a gently kick in greeting.

“And now look at us.”

“We’re so responsible.” She still schemes, occasionally, but it's not where all her energy goes and the outcomes are more likely to be positive than negative. They have tempers and nightmares, remnants of past lives, but they know how to deal with each other, when to leave the other alone. It's -- she doesn't like resting too much on one thing but they've had this for five years now, she thinks it's going to stick.

“You always said responsibility could be boring.”

Blair almost replies with _being with you is never boring_ but Harry would never let that rest and so she just hums and rests her hand on top on Harry’s where it's resting on her stomach and that's answer enough.

  


.

  


“Look. They've got the first season of Lost.” They’ve hit a patch of turbulence; Harry’s knuckles are white again. Next time they try this Blair might ask Hermione about a potion. “You said you wanted to watch it again.”

“You said I see myself in Jack,” Harry retorts, a little bite there, and Blair knows he’s doing fine.

“I think I said something about Desmond too,” Blair says, syncing their screens and handing an earbud to Harry. “You know, a desert island doesn’t seem too bad actually.”

“You said that the first time,” Harry reminds her because he remembers everything. “And then you said no, actually, you couldn’t do it without electricity.”

“The Others have electricity,” as bodies fall from the sky and Shannon screams and screams. “But you’re right, I love New York too much.”

“And me,” Harry says, gruff. He’s watching the window again. Blair picked a red-eye thinking that would be better, they could sleep, but it’s stormy and dark and she thinks she maybe didn’t make the best choice. Being a frequent flier she forgets all the initial feelings that come with flying and the very logical reasons why some people have fears.

“And you,” she agrees. She reaches up and cups his chin, tilting his head to face her. She kisses him softly, stays there for a moment, until she's confident he's relaxing. “Tell me your theories,” she says as she pulls away, gesturing to the screen.

“I read one about the polar bear,” he begins and Blair closes her eyes and listens.

  


.

  


They land, alive, and then it's a case of hiring a car. They're doing just traditionally and safe the whole way.

“I find out more and more about you every day,” Harry declares when he panics momentarily that he never learned to drive and Blair pushes him out the way and climbs into the driver's seat.

It's insane really that they've known each other for five years and Harry somehow never knew she can drive. She forgets it too sometimes, what with the limos and the taxis and the Side-Along Apparition, what’s the need for a licence? But now she climbs behind the wheel, adjusts the seat for the bump, and thanks god she demanded those lessons.

“Put a navigational spell on, will you?” This is England, they do things differently here. All that time in the back of limos and taxis and Side-Along Apparition never gave her a great sense of direction. Blair’s a confident woman but she’ll admit she wouldn’t like to be lost with her.

“Where are we going?” Harry asks. To glance at him you wouldn’t think he had been worried up in the air but Blair knows him well and she can see the paleness slowly fade from his face and the trembling of his hands is almost gone as he taps his wand on the car.

“Home?”

“We just came from there,” which has been true for almost two years but Blair’s not heard it said so simply from Harry before and it makes her smile. “Took us six hours more than it would’ve,” he adds, waving off her protests with a grin. “No, really, I appreciated it, Blair. I get what you’re saying about the baby, even now it’s probably better to fly than to warp through time and space.”

“Very scientific way of putting it.” Blair pauses as she fiddles with the radio on the way out of the car park. “Has anyone looked into comparisons of magic and science?”

Harry shrugs. Blair supposes being in this world for most of your life makes you immune to its peculiarities but then she remembers Hermione and her avidness to learn everything and she knows where she’ll get her answer. “Oh,” she remembers on the topic of work. “I’ve got a meeting with Louise next week about expanding into athletic --”

Harry interrupts this with a laugh. “Athletic, Blair? That’s your brand?” He’s not being cruel, see, he just knows her so stupidly well.

“Not my _brand_ , idiot. But seeing as my husband is a professional football player.” She loves stressing the football to make him squirm. “And athletic gear is on trend at the moment, though god knows why seeing as half the girls only use it to take Instagram pictures about the gym before taking it all off again.”

“It’s a good idea,” Harry hums. “With your reach into Europe and Australasia as well you’d be tapping into a market over there where your more high-end things might not fit in as well as New York.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Blair says and she steps on the accelerator. She quite likes driving, actually, even though this is her first time behind the wheel in too long. Go big or go home, right? “So when I’m at the meeting can you have a look at the cribs and prams I set out?”

Harry’s hand reaches over, flutters light on her shoulder. “You know I’m proud of you, Blair, don’t you? I feel like I don’t say that enough.”

Blair smiles, swallows down the feeling that’s twisting through her chest. She has to concentrate on the road. “I know it.”

Harry’s hand slips to her knee.

Blair pats his hand and then jumps when a lorry overtakes and swerves in in front of her without indicating. “I haven't driven since I was sixteen and I forgot you have these fucking roundabouts.”

“I’ll sit back then?” Harry suggests because really, magic is so goddam lazy when you think about it. He's waved his wand, he's done his bit. “Hold on for my life?”

“You just sit back and let me do the work,” Blair smiles sweetly.

She plugs her phone in, pushes away Harry’s hand, and turns the volume up. She likes Betty Woo; it's all about that girl power, isn't it?

  


.

  
  


“I’d like Serena to be a godparent,” Blair says once they’ve almost reached the car rental. She’s not taking this car any further into central London, spells or no.

Harry winds up his window; the car’s suddenly quieter even with the music still playing. “Obviously,” he says. “Anyone else?”

“Nate,” she says, decisive. Nate has always been there, an unwavering rock throughout it all. “He’s my oldest friend and he’s done a good job of raising Sam so far. I trust him."

“I like those choices.” Harry’s head falls against the window; his fingers tap tap tap. Blair catches them. “What do you think about Fleur?”

“I love Fleur.” Yesterday Fleur Flooed the flat to let them know not to drop in today as Louis has the chickenpox and the whole house is about to collapse to them. _I’ll come over next week,_ she had said, harried and tired. _I want to see the nursery I've got a surprise for you._ “Why not Hermione?” She has to ask.

“Well I was going to say Ron as well.” He pauses now, closes his eyes. “I trust them both with everything but I don’t want to --” Sorting out the words he tries again. “I don’t want to rest everything on them.” Another pause before he echoes Blair. “I love Fleur.”

“This is all hypothetical anyway,” Blair assures him, assures them both. This is a put-in-place scenario if the worst ever happens. These are the people they trust in that time. “That’s decided then,” she summarises, voice brisk.

“Another thing off the list,” Harry replies. He takes Blair’s phone and scrolls through the playlists until he finds the song he’s looking for. Blair nudges up the volume and indicates off the motorway for the rental place. Paolo Nutini fills the car.

  


.

  


The London flat is small and cosy where the one in the Manhattan is open and white. Blair curls up in the chair by the window, a book in her hand half-pulling her attention, the rest of her watching Harry and Teddy talk on the couch. Teddy says something quietly and Harry laughs, his head tipping back. All those times Teddy has asked about a cat are rushing to her now -- she’s never really been a fan of cats, snotty and smelly, just like dogs, but in this moment she can think of nothing nicer. A baby first and then they’ll see. Maybe Teddy can help them choose before he goes to Hogwarts after the summer.

Blair gives up the pretence of reading and cants her head to see them better. Teddy looks up from whatever he’s saying, catches Blair’s eye, and smiles, wiggling his fingers. With May coming up he wears pink in memoriam and Blair struggles not to cry every time she sees him.

Harry says something before he rises from the couch; whatever it is has Teddy going to the kitchen. When Harry comes over he balances on the arm; his arm stretching across Blair’s shoulders and his body warm where he leans into her. “We were thinking of phoning something -- you okay with that?”

“I’m tired,” Blair says -- an affirmative. “What did Teddy choose?”

“He mentioned the new Thai place down the road.” When Blair cranes her neck she can catch Harry’s frown. “Or is that too risky?” They’re both remembering last month when anything spicy sent Blair’s stomach tumbling out of her. “I can tell Teddy pizza,” and then he gets up to do just that but Blair stops him with a hand on his thigh.

“No, I think Thai’s fine. I’m sick of pizza anyway. I’ve got no idea what I’m going to look like after all of this.” It’s something she keeps pushing out of her mind but it’s hard when your closet is huge and you can’t wear three quarters of it. If she comes to the day where she reaches for sweats she’s going to have to bring Serena and Fleur in to take over control of her fashion choices.

“You’ll look great,” Harry assures her, cutting her brain off mid-thought. He smudges a kiss onto her forehead. “Have a nap, B, it’s been a long day. I’ll wake you when the food arrives.”

Blair lets him go reluctantly, her hand clinging to his until she can’t reach any further. She slumps back into the chair and the baby rolls with her, a foot or a hand pushing back against her momentarily before they both settle down.

Tomorrow they’ll Apparate thousands of miles back across the Atlantic where they’ll sprawl out on the couch and pick through cribs of varying size and wood colour. Blair will focus on the practicalities and the necessities and she’ll try not to allow excitement to cloud her judgement. Her hands will shake as she opens a parcel of baby clothes delivered by her father, three months too early so they’re there on time and just in case anything happens sooner than expected. She’ll lie later in bed, a book held loosely in her hand, not unlike now, and her attention will be focused on the wonder and awe on Harry’s face as he reads leaflet after leaflet about what to do with your new living and breathing arrival. Tomorrow is when they’ll come to the realisation after weeks and weeks that they’ll have a baby with them soon, part Blair part Harry, and that this is what both of them have been wanting for longer than they know and for so many reasons they can’t count.

These are tomorrow’s tasks; today they’ve achieved flying and godparents and that’s enough to quiet Blair’s brain for now. She runs a hand over the bump, feels another tiny ripple and then she gives in and closes her eyes.

  
  



End file.
